


I hear your voice in the wind except I’m in a ravine and the branches are perfectly still

by ChipperChemical



Series: Dream SMP stuff [11]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: :), Angst, Bittersweet, Canon is real, Gen, How did we get here?, Implied Character Death, Post-Festival, Tubbo is a ghost oooooooooooo, Tubboo!, is that major character death?, it’s 1:43am right now and i am doing this., i’ll change the tag if someone says it is, literally hate this, spoiler alert: Tubbo fucking dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27184846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChipperChemical/pseuds/ChipperChemical
Summary: Tubbo always asked stupid questions; it was one of his specialities, a quirk that made him, well, him. One day, he asks a question that Tommy can’t quite answer:Why?
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Dream SMP stuff [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181660
Comments: 6
Kudos: 278





	I hear your voice in the wind except I’m in a ravine and the branches are perfectly still

**Author's Note:**

> [throws my trash at you] Eat, my rats! Feast as monarchs!

“Why was I hurt?”

The voice shattered his peace like sugar glass as Tommy looked up from his cross-legged position on the floor, making eye contact with the boy before him, who was staring at him expectantly. He sighed.

“I don’t fucking know, Tubbo.”

With a mimicked sigh, Tubbo perched on top of a nearby chest, also crossing his legs and trying to mirror Tommy’s position.

“He said he wouldn’t hurt me.”

Tommy snapped, glaring up through gritted teeth, the flares of annoyance in his eyes slowly building to anger.

“I know he said that. He clearly lied.”

Tubbo paused for a moment, letting the quiet blanket them comfortingly before he lifted it again, taking them back into the unstable conditions.

“I miss my bees.”

Classic Tubbo: always thinking about his bees or his boats. Tommy found unexpected serendipity in the familiarity.

“I know you do.”

Only a beat had passed until Tubbo sighed longingly, shifting in his position and resting his head on the palm of his hand. Tommy briefly considered saying something, literally anything more meaningful than this useless chatter, but the words fizzled and died on his tongue. Silence was treasure.

“When will all of this be over?”

Turning the question over in his head, Tommy thought — he seemed to be doing that a lot recently.

“When someone gives up.”

It was a fair enough answer, sure, but Tubbo clearly wasn’t satisfied, his eyes drifting to his knees, which he doodled circles on with his index finger.

“I wish we’d ran away together.”

Oh, to blissfully hope for something so trivially childish: Tommy cracked a smile, a concoctive smile of mockery and fondness. What a foolish wish. 

“I like that idea.”

Maybe it was okay to be whimsical every once and a while, Tommy considered, playing along to Tubbo’s wishes like a puppet in a puppet show. He couldn’t tell who the marionette was.

“Let’s do it now.”

“No.”

Tubbo blinked, but Tommy stayed silent, staring coldly at the ground as if it had been the root of all his problems. The chest beneath Tubbo creaked faintly as he shuffled again, holding both hands to his face to block out the world.

“My head hurts, Tommy.”

Closing his eyes a moment, Tommy breathed deeply, before opening them and looking calmly at Tubbo, whose teeth were gritted in a self-controlling way. It was a pitiful sight.

“Get some rest, Tubbo. It’ll be better in the morn—“

“Tommy?”

Tommy looked to the side, scanning Wilbur, who was stood at the foot of the staircase into Pogtopia. His arms were bundled with supplies: wood, stone, weapons. After the festival, his sanity had somewhat improved, but Tommy hated to admit how he still flinched when he raised his voice. But now, Wilbur’s face was sunken, shocked, staring unbelievingly at Tommy.

“Who are you talking to?”

And the dust settled upon the chest.

**Author's Note:**

> i can write better than this, i swear. this was just a sleep-deprived drabble that i didn’t proofread. 
> 
> i scream helplessly into the void and god responds in cosmic mockery.


End file.
